


Against the Tide

by Melodycard



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodycard/pseuds/Melodycard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slaine’s so used to having things go wrong that he’s forgotten what it’s like for something to go right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place roughly in Season 1 of Aldnoah Zero, post Episode 7. An alternative take on what could have happened if Inaho and Slaine had concluded their first meeting on better terms. Warnings for canon inaccuracies. 
> 
> When I made the decision to watch Aldnoah Zero, I hadn't planned to get so deep into the series that I would end up trying to write fanfiction about it. But sometimes, these things happen, so here goes nothing. :'D

Of all the possible ways Slaine might have expected tonight to go down, this is most definitely the last on his list.

A sharp breath escapes his lungs and he allows himself to sit back, the tension rolling off his shoulders as his body deflates.  

He tries to make sense of the past couple of minutes—surreal is the only word to describe them.

It almost feels like diving out from an illusion, and for a brief moment, Slaine questions whether that’s all this is—an illusion. With wide eyes, he continues to stare blankly ahead, subconsciously noting how the sun has set and there’s now an eerie calmness penetrating the scarlet hue.

The quietness is soon diffused when his speakers crack, and a familiar voice flies through: “Bat, we need to land.”

_Orange._

Slaine straightens, snapping out of his reverie. “Wait. The Princess,” he says. “I’m looking for the Princess.”

The self-reminder of his original motive brings back the rush of adrenaline in his veins. Slaine moves to sit up the full way, his attentiveness once again rising to maximum heights.  

“…Let’s land and then we’ll get to that,” Orange insists through the communication channel.

 

* * *

 

The first thing they do is usher him into an isolated room where a number of soldiers are standing guard, no doubt to act as safety measures in the event that he turns out to be a threat.

Once inside, they order him to sit in front of several officials and other affiliates of United Earth. Slaine’s not able to completely concentrate on his surroundings as some of the adults in the room start to exchange silent, skeptical looks. Even when the lead officer takes the seat affront him, the stability of his mind remains scattered about. His thoughts are still in a hyperactive frenzy—trying to settle down from a jumbled state of disorientation.

Slaine quickly cycles through the flood of events which took place.

His cooperation with Orange.

The defeat of an Orbital Knight.

His sky carrier subsequently secured by the Terrans.

He’s forced to acknowledge the presence of the other people in the room when a barrage of questions is suddenly thrown at his face. Initially, he remains unresponsive to all of them, instincts advising him to regard his current environment with suspicion.

It’s only when they extend a negotiation that he will be allowed to meet Princess Asseylum after the interview that he reluctantly begins to respond.  

The questions come one after another in what could be described as a tense but controlled process. By the half-way point, Slaine’s wrists are already aching from the strain of being enclosed in metal handcuffs for so long.

It’s an hour later before the interrogation thankfully comes to a close.

Slaine’s considerably staggered by how the sitting had gone without much incident. A large part of him had been expecting something of the more unfavorable to occur. Maybe he’s had too much experience with the harsh methods of the Versian Empire, but he can’t help feeling more than a bit mystified when they’re finally escorting him out.

Within a couple of minutes, he’s brought over to Asseylum as agreed upon. 

He can’t suppress the torrent of relief from engulfing his features when he sees her alive and well. At the sight of him, Asseylum’s face immediately contorts with emotion, and her hand flies to her mouth as she runs to close the distance dividing them apart.

Asseylum is exactly as Slaine remembers her. Though now, there’s an extra layer of guardedness and apprehension shadowing her complexion. It’s no doubt the result of the chain of events spiraling from the recently failed assassination scheme.  

Another short round of informal questioning by the United Earth officials ensues after Slaine and Asseylum’s brief reunion, during which Asseylum quickly validates the answers Slaine had given in the interrogation room. Asseylum’s confirmations seem to be sufficient evidence to convince the staff that he’s not exactly a threat. He’s no more a threat than Asseylum is a threat—that’s the logic used.

They ultimately decide it’s tolerable to keep him on the Deucalion for the time being, notwithstanding a note of caution.

Slaine’s just glad that he’s been reunited with the Princess.

 

* * *

 

Every action has a best and worst outcome.

Prior to relaying his message to Rayregalia Vers Rayvers, Slaine already had inkling that there was a high probability of the latter being the one to become reality.

Hence, when the alarm bells began ringing, and Count Cruhteo started calling on his squad to execute Slaine on the spot, the first emotion to come to Slaine had not been shock. Rather, it had been resigned disappointment that of course things were not going to go his way.

That would explain why he’d had such an efficient route of escape. Vers by no means has a poor security system; the empire only makes use of the most robust and competent set of defense measures. However, for somebody like Slaine who expects the worst as a strict default, he’d been prepared.

And he’d been prepared for those last few hours to end in fire as well, which is why he doesn’t know what to make of his current situation right now.

Slaine’s so used to having things go wrong that he’s forgotten what it’s like for something to go right.

But those last few hours—they were the closest he’s ever gotten to odds leaning in his favor in a long time.

 

* * *

 

On the second day, he has permission to move out of the solitary confinement room he’s temporarily housed in. There are arrangements for him to settle in with a trainee pilot.

In a spacey corridor, Slaine stands outside his designated room, sliding his entry card ineffectively through a slot protruding to his right.

This is the third time he’s done this and while his card slides through with ease, the door refuses to budge. Pulling away, he angles his eyes down and peers at the slot in confusion. There are no apparent faults that he can see.

He repeats the procedure again.

No luck.

He’s on his sixth try, when a hand that’s not his own reaches over, and draws a card down the slot.

The door beeps open smoothly with a click.

Slaine turns around, his senses instinctively set to high alert.    

A young boy with dark brown hair and burgundy eyes is standing in front of him. He’s a few centimeters shorter than Slaine, and dressed in school uniform. The boy shoots him a blank stare, before slowly retracting his hand from the door. His sleeve brushes softly against Slaine’s shoulder in the retreat.  

“You’re supposed to flip it down side up,” he tells Slaine emphatically. “It won’t work otherwise.”

Slaine keeps quiet for a moment, drawing back a step to appraise his newfound company. He only now notices the mid-sized cardboard box balanced under the boy’s left arm.

“I’m sorry, but you are..?” Slaine trails off.

The boy slips the card he’s just used to access the door back inside his blazer pocket. “Inaho. Kaizuka Inaho.”

“Ah.” Slaine shifts his eyes away from the cardboard box back to the boy’s face. He’s still faintly taken aback by the way the other had so stealthily appeared behind him without the slightest signs of warning. Or perhaps Slaine had just been too preoccupied with gaining entry to his room to notice Inaho’s footsteps.

When Inaho’s burgundy eyes continue to focus their vacant stare on him, Slaine realizes that it’s probably a cue for him to return introductions. Mentally scrambling for the manners he’s had drilled into him throughout various points of his life, Slaine quickly pieces together a respectable response, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Slaine Troyard.” 

Inaho shifts the box so that he’s now supporting it with both his arms. “I know. I was told this morning that you would be rooming with me.”

So that intense stare had not been a subtle signal for him to introduce himself after all.

Slaine briefly wonders whether Inaho knows the full details behind the arrangement. From a logical perspective, he should. Slaine assumes the majority of the pilots on the ship and anyone directly involved in battle have probably been informed and made aware of his situation.    

“I need to bring this to the mechanics,” Inaho announces.

The statement draws Slaine’s attention to the contents in the cardboard box. “Is that so?” he says.

Inaho nods. He then casually turns on his heel to resume his path down the hall. “I’ll see you later then, Bat.”

At first, Slaine doesn’t register the meaningful drop of Inaho’s last word. But once he does, he freezes, his jaw instantly dipping open on its own accord. 

Slaine reels around.

Orange is already gone.

 

* * *

 

The next time Slaine sees Orange (Slaine supposes it’s also ‘Inaho’ now), it’s from a substantial distance away, with Slaine peering down some several feet from a heightened spectators’ walkway as he spots Inaho hopping out of a combat simulator. A woman with an exoskeleton arm brace is there to talk with Inaho as soon as the brunet slides out from the machine. She starts going over the results of the simulation by pointing at various spots on a hand-held computer. As the conversation wears on, it becomes clear to Slaine that she and Inaho are siblings.  

Slaine leans forward against the railing, and takes this opportunity to really get a good look at the other boy.    

There is a very obvious nonchalance in the way Inaho speaks and carries himself. This much had already been apparent to Slaine from their brief encounter in the hallway, but the fact becomes even more pronounced when juxtaposing Inaho against his much livelier sister.    

Slaine considers that, in light of all things, this is the person who had worked with him on a highly risky endeavor. This person, while still unaware of Slaine’s true intentions, had taken the gamble to jump on his sky carrier, despite knowing full well the negative repercussions that could have spawned from doing so.

Slaine hadn’t given the pilot of the Orange Kataphrakt much thought until now, but after reexamining what had occurred that night, Inaho’s actions could be deemed a miracle in and of itself. Theoretically, it’d take a pretty unbelievable person to calmly make a split-second decision to collaborate with someone from the opposite side of a war like Inaho did.  

How many people would actually do something like that?

 _Well, aren’t you one?_ a voice in his head points out.

Slaine can’t argue with that.

 

* * *

 

Asseylum has a lot of good things to say about Inaho.

Slaine’s never heard her talk so animatedly about somebody before. This palpable observation is one he can’t even try to undermine, and he’s soon left hyperaware of the fact that it was Inaho who had more or less kept the Princess safe throughout the aftermath of the recent catastrophe. Inaho had kept Asseylum safe while Slaine was still up there in Vers, scurrying back and forth between paranoia and confusion, not knowing whom to trust nor whom to seek out for reliable information—ending up snooping around in all the wrong places, ultimately throwing his own life in peril, and thus needing to flee to Earth on a hijacked aircraft.

He can’t help but get the impression that an implicit comparison is being made, his own incompetence picked apart and pulled to the surface for scrutiny.  

That thought gets him a bit frustrated, but there’s no reason to complain. The only thing important is that Asseylum is alive and well. At the end of the day, it’s irrelevant who does the protecting—

“—think, Slaine?” Asseylum’s sudden question forces him to abandon his internal musings.

“I apologize; what was that?” he asks, mentally berating himself for neglecting to pay attention.

Asseylum smiles gently. “You’ve probably spoken to Inaho-san by now, is that right? He’s a kind person, wouldn’t you say?”

 

* * *

 

The first full-length conversation Slaine ends up having with Inaho opens with an awkward start. It’s one of those conversations somebody has to make a genuine effort to get rolling, because there’s simply no good way to ease into it naturally.    

Slaine initiates—sets the spark by casually remarking out of the blue, “Princess Asseylum’s told me about how you’ve saved her life on numerous occasions. She’s very grateful to you.”

The lights are out, and they’re both lying on their respective beds. In the darkness, Slaine hears Inaho shift, sheets rustling.

The current sleeping arrangement stirs an odd sensation of unease within Slaine. He hasn’t slept in the same room as somebody else for so long, and coming to terms with the reality that he currently is will undoubtedly take a while for him to grow accustomed to.

“It isn’t as though I did it for Seylum-san in particular,” Inaho says. “We’re at war; if I hadn’t fought, my life would have been in danger as well.”

Inaho’s words radiate aloofness—something which shouldn’t surprise Slaine considering his observations of Inaho’s general mannerisms. However, after listening to Asseylum rave about the brunet all day, Slaine supposes that he’d been waiting for a slightly different response, at least when the matter concerns Asseylum.      

“What made you decide to stay quiet about her true identity the day the attempted assassination occurred?” Slaine presses, further testing the waters. “You could have reported her to the authorities.”    

“Yes,” Inaho agrees. “But after listening to Seylum-san's explanations of the situation, it became clear that she intended no harm.”  

“Even though she is the Princess of Vers?”

“That doesn’t automatically make her an enemy. The people who planned her death are the ones responsible for starting the war.”  

Slaine bores his eyes into the unfamiliar ceiling. He lets Inaho’s words sit in the air while he examines them. “You keep a clear head on your shoulders,” he says. “Most Terrans wouldn’t have reacted the way you did.”  

“My sister’s always told me to make decisions as individual circumstances dictate.”

“You’re not afraid of the possibility that you could have made the wrong call?” Slaine asks.

“If that happens, it happens,” Inaho answers, his tone flat. “People are non-prescient. At any given time, we can only make an educated guess and hope that in the end, that guess will become the right choice.”  

It dawns on Slaine that Inaho operates on pure rationale—he analyzes a situation, maps his options, and makes judgments accordingly to get from point A to point B. It’s a very pragmatic way of thinking that pretty much ignores any concept of emotional attachment.

 _‘Kind’ is probably not the right word_ , he mentally addresses the question he’d failed to properly answer when Asseylum had asked him earlier. _He’s just…practical._     

Slaine's still in the middle of his deliberations when Inaho speaks, “Didn’t you act based on similar logic?”  

“What do you mean?”

“When you let me get on top of your jet—no, the second you started backing us up,” Inaho says, referring to the whole incident that’d started everything, “at that point, it no longer mattered to you which side you were on—Martians or Terrans.”      

Slaine purses his lips. “My objective was to find Princess Asseylum and confirm her safety. There were people on the Martians’ side plotting her death.”      

“It’s the same kind of reasoning; you made a decision based on the unique circumstances. And you were willing to attack someone from your own side to achieve that.”

“So what do you see us as?” Slaine turns his head. “Enemies or allies?”

“That really depends on what you do from here onwards,” Inaho says. Then, after a short lapse, he adds, “Though at the moment, since our objectives align, I wouldn’t consider you an enemy.”

“What if that changes one day?”  

Inaho pauses. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Their discussion ends there.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week crawls by uneventfully.

Slaine wanders around the Deucalion, conveniently familiarizing himself with several members of the crew as coincidental encounters present themselves. It’s done in a strictly business-like fashion, of course. There’s nothing remotely personal about his interactions with any of them. Which is just as it should be, considering how temporary his connection to everyone is.

At the moment, nobody knows what the future might bring.

Everybody is just playing the waiting game, biding their time.

As a rule, it’s Inaho’s classmates that Slaine always seems to end up indirectly running into, or seeing while he’s lingering about in the background.

It’s common for him to witness the students making small talk amongst themselves, or occasionally engaging in the meaningless but friendly banter.

Having spent the past few years surrounded by discipline, authority, and stern adults in general, this new atmosphere comes off as more than a bit jarring, and hard for Slaine to digest. Watching kids his age doing kid things, having kid arguments—though regrettably in a military setting that’s definitely not fitting for kids—it’s almost like pulling teeth.

He feels distinctly misplaced—a young face looking through old eyes—thrown a few miles too far back onto a part of his life he never had the opportunity to live right.

 

* * *

 

Slaine grunts, sliding a wooden crate off the mountain of cargo.

By now, he’s used to being roped into doing these kinds of odd jobs. They’re sailing precariously in the middle of the ocean with a shortage of people to rely on—everybody onboard needs to contribute.

He supposes it’s not exactly a bad thing. The menial tasks keep him busy—distract his mind off things. And these days, distractions are more than welcomed, because sitting around idle brooding about when the inevitable danger might make its surprise appearance has unhealthy consequences for a person’s psyche.  

The weight of the crate falls from Slaine’s arms as he deposits it on an unobstructed area on the deck.

A few yards across from him, Inko is complaining about the ocean winds while Calm starts to talk about a nightmare he had last night.

Slaine leans down to begin work releasing the rusty latches. He manages to get the first undone, but the second is a bit tricky. He pulls and pulls, but it doesn’t give way.

Inko suddenly bursts into laughter at a joke Calm tells.

Slaine yanks at the latch harder.  

“That one has a different unlocking mechanism,” a level voice says to his left. “Try pushing forward first before pulling back.”

Slaine doesn’t look up, but his limbs automatically move to follow the spoken instructions.

The metal fastener comes undone with a soft clang.

Slaine wipes his sore hands on his trousers. “Thank you.”

“If you were having trouble, you could have asked Calm or Inko for assistance,” Inaho replies coolly.

Slaine feels his face grow warm. “I would have figured it out myself eventually.”

“Not likely with the way you were going. You would probably have damaged the lock before then.”

Slaine pulls his lower lip back. Reaching down, he hooks his fingers onto the side of the wooden box to lift the top open. “Inaho-san, do you have a habit of just appearing behind unsuspecting people to offer advice?” he asks, choosing not to respond to the brunet’s remark.

He thinks back to his first face-to-face encounter with the boy.

_Déjà vu._

“Only when it’s necessary,” Inaho replies, taking a few steps closer to Slaine.

Slaine hoists the cover away and gives a quick run-over through the contents inside the crate.

This one’s mostly battle equipment.

Reaching down, he carefully starts taking some of it out.

Overhead, a flock of seagulls fly across the sky, painting infinite blue with specks of white. They cast fast-moving shadows upon the ship.

“What’s it like?” Inaho suddenly asks. “Living up there.”

It takes Slaine a few seconds to register exactly what Inaho might be referring to. The question makes him stop unloading the equipment, and he straightens up, turns, and looks at Inaho. The brunet is leisurely chewing on a sandwich. The sight of food reminds Slaine that it’s close to noon, and consequently, lunchtime. “Excuse me?”

“You were originally from Earth, and it wasn’t until a few years ago that you began living on Mars, correct?” Inaho swallows his mouthful of sandwich. “How was life like up there?”  

A series of flashbacks speed through the forefront of Slaine’s thoughts—all less than pleasant ones. Ones where he’s constantly looked down on. Ones where he’s ruthlessly insulted—treated as less than an insignificant nothing. Ones that hurt, figuratively and literally—he still has the scars as a reminder.    

“What do you think?” Slaine finally says, angling his gaze away. The topic is not one he wants or needs to discuss.  

Inaho cocks his head to one side. “I’m asking you because I don’t know.”

Slaine feels his lips curl upwards in a humorless smile. “Then maybe it’s better you stay that way.”

Inaho falls completely silent after that. He stands motionless, gaze locked unwaveringly on Slaine—a calculating type of gaze. Or at least, that’s what Slaine thinks it might be, because with Inaho’s face, it’s like looking at an inexpressive, impenetrable fortress that will never slip any hints as to what the brunet is truly thinking.    

“Inaho?!”

The still moment is shattered by Inko’s voice calling from the other side of the deck.  

Inaho casts Slaine one last fleeting look before moving to join his friends. Slaine watches from his spot as Calm greets Inaho by casually clapping him on the shoulder.  

“How is the unpacking going?” Inaho asks.

“Great! We got through a lot of the crates already!” Inko chirps.

“I thought you had a meeting with the lead officers. What are you doing up here?” Calm asks.

“The meeting was adjourned an hour ago,” Inaho says. He holds a bag out towards the two. “Would you like a sandwich? I made extras.”

“I’m surprised you even found the time to make those,” Calm says, peering into the bag. “You’re way too absorbed in your own pace…”

“I’ll take one; I didn’t eat breakfast today,” Inko interjects.

“Also, Yuki-nee wants to speak with the both of you,” Inaho says. “I came up here to bring you two downstairs.”

“Eh?” A noise of confusion escapes Inko. “What for?”

“She says she’ll explain once you two get down there.” As Inaho tells Calm and Inko this, his eyes shift nonchalantly in Slaine’s direction.      

Slaine blinks. Like snapping out of a trance, he immediately turns back to concentrate on his unpacking, but unfortunately not before Inaho’s eyes manage to briefly catch his.

It hadn’t occurred to Slaine that he’d been standing there frozen, watching Inaho and his friends exchange words.

How silly of him. Whatever they are up to, it’s no business of his.

His peripheral vision suddenly catches sight of a projectile cruising towards him.

If Slaine hadn’t had any military training under his belt, the object might have very well struck him square in the face.

On reflex, his hand shoots out, intercepting whatever it is heading his way before it can come in contact with his head.

Slaine’s mouth drops open to question the meaning behind the attack, but the words quickly die in his throat when he looks down to see the wrapped sandwich now sitting in his palm.

“You can have that,” Inaho calls.

The brunet then leaves with Inko and Calm without giving Slaine an opportunity to refuse.

 

* * *

 

When Slaine was a lot younger, there were occasionally days when his father would take him out on picnics.

It was always homemade sandwiches his father would bring—sandwiches that were never decent in flavor or quality and often tasted downright terrible, but somehow they became Slaine’s favorite thing to eat.

The picnics were nothing exceptional, but they were pleasant surprises whenever they occurred and Slaine never failed to look forward to them. Though inevitably, as his father grew more absorbed in his research, the outings became less and less frequent. Eventually, Slaine learned to stop looking forward to them, because there was little point in getting his hopes up about something that was no longer going to happen.

That was also about the time when Slaine slowly started to see from first-hand experience what it’s like to have a parent unconditionally devoted to their work.  

Going days and weeks without getting so much as a glance at his father’s face became common.

The man had developed a persistent need to stay cooped up in his sunlight-deprived room, pouring over piles of documents and books. That or he wouldn’t come home at all, because the late night shifts at the facility always ended up running too late.

Slaine would sit in the empty living room, staring at the old clock on the wall as each tick brought him another second closer to the all-too familiar letdown that he was going to be spending another night by himself, in an apartment far too big for just one person.    

 

* * *

 

Despite the slight chilliness coming from the morning breeze, the weather today is very nice. Having adapted to the dull, colorless scenery characteristic to Vers, Slaine has almost forgotten what good weather actually looks like.  

There isn’t a cloud in sight, and with the ocean and skies exhibiting clean shades of blue, the horizon line in the distance is the clearest it can possibly be.

Slaine quietly moves to sit down on an unopened crate.

The ocean waves are loud in his ears as he unwraps the sandwich, still warm in his hands.  

Tentatively, he brings it to his mouth and takes a bite.

The taste is surprisingly good.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the incredibly late update! I’m well aware that it’s been too long. I meant to upload this chapter on the site at the beginning of this month, but I guess I’ve just been feeling conflicted about various things recently so I don't know... :')
> 
> As was in chapter 1, this is Slaine-centric, so just his point of view throughout! :)

With the passage of time, Slaine succeeds in learning a few more facts about Kaizuka Inaho.

To start, the brunet’s at the top of his year—a fairly recent development, given how the position had previously been held by Amifumi Inko not too long ago.

Second, his capacity for physics and tactical analysis is considered to be largely unprecedented.

Third, seasoned officers of the Earth Forces with years of professional training regularly consult him for advice (and trust him enough to implement said advice in practice). The fact that Inaho is only in high school automatically makes this last point especially remarkable.

In the end, none of this new information winds up giving Slaine that much more to latch onto when it comes to gaining a deeper insight on the other boy. Everything he’s learned thus far can be summed up briefly in that Inaho is basically someone who excels in a plethora of things.

It’s superficial knowledge at best.

For the most part, Inaho remains an enigma to Slaine. He’s very much an unknown, and Slaine doesn’t take too well to dealing with unknowns.

To date, Slaine still isn’t quite sure what to think of him—can’t form enough of a cohesive opinion on how he ought to feel about Inaho.

Inaho’s not an enemy, but he’s also not an ally. Similarly, he’s neither trustworthy nor untrustworthy. He’s prone to being unpredictable in the sense that he walks on neither the path that opens right nor the one that opens left—he hovers somewhere in between.

Put brief, Inaho comes across as puzzling in a very exclusive way, and that bothers Slaine probably more than he’d like to admit.

 

* * *

 

It’s a Wednesday, and Slaine’s morning begins while he’s traversing towards the Deucalion’s primary storeroom, an electronic tablet in tow. Due to the recent acquisition of new supplies, there’s a need to perform a recount of total inventory on hand.

The path leading up to, as well as the target destination itself, is deserted.

He soon discovers that the stairs descending the storeroom are awfully loud when used. As he climbs down, his footsteps echo thunderously in the otherwise quiet stillness, the sound grating against his eardrums. Not favoring the intensity of those noises, he vaguely begins slowing his descent so that some of the feedback coming from his shoes might be repressed.

This effort is instinctive on his part.

As the sole Terran attempting to survive on a planet full of Martians, the skill to be as inconspicuous as possible had at some point become a necessity for him. Subconsciously minimizing the volume of his footsteps is simply one of several habits he’s had to develop.

When he reaches and enters the storage room, he quickly flips on the lights to inspect the area.

Supplies of a wide variety greet him, some of which are lined up on shelves and others grouped into neat piles on the floor.

There’s a lot to go over.

This doesn’t seem like a job for a single person to complete. Even with two people, it would take a couple of days.  

He surveys the room, pondering upon where to begin. After deciding that the choice of a starting point shouldn’t be of great importance, he randomly settles on an arbitrary corner to the far left.

Slaine is barely five minutes into his appointed task when a loud thud suddenly startles him out of his concentration. It takes him a second to realize that the noise is not a result of him having accidentally knocked something over, but rather it’s coming from an unidentified source at the doorway. Slaine turns his head to pinpoint the origin of the sound.

To his surprise, he finds Nina Klein standing at the room entrance, looking somewhat sheepish.

A dropped tablet—Slaine assumes it’s her’s—lies face-down on the floor a few inches in front of her feet. She bends down to retrieve it, quickly checking over it for damage as she’s picking it up. When she’s fully straightened herself, she turns her attention to Slaine.       

“Hi,” she says, a slight smile adorning her lips.

Slaine gives himself a moment to process Nina’s abrupt appearance.

“Hello,” he returns.

“Are you helping with the inventory count?” she asks. When he nods, ‘Yes,’ she adds: “I’m doing that too.”

Nina takes a few preliminary steps into the room, noting her surroundings as she does so. Her eyes shift from one spot to another in thought.

On a few instances, her alternating gaze pauses briefly at the area Slaine is in, during which she appears a bit indecisive.

Eventually, she just smiles and gestures to a random section of the room.

“Um, I guess I’ll start here!” she announces.

Slaine eyes the spot she’s pointing towards.

It’s not too far from where he’s standing, but not too near either.

“Okay,” he says.

Those are the only words spoken between them for the rest of the morning.

 

* * *

 

Silence has a habit of sticking to Slaine like a second skin.      

It’s not as though he needs to specifically go out of his way to get it there. It just tends to be there nonetheless, and he’s become familiar enough with it that he expects it to be there whether he wants it or not.    

_Silence is better than pointless noise._

Or so, that’s what he conditions himself to believe during the times when he doesn’t care for it.

Though in some odd way, he mostly does, so there’s hardly an issue.

Slaine wouldn’t necessarily peg himself as a natural embracer of the quiet, but at some point, he’s been given to believe in it as an odd form of solace.

That may have to do with how nothing good ever seems to happen to him when he’s talking—talking as in actually saying what he truly means to say as opposed to saying only what everyone expects to hear. May have to do with the fact that whenever he’s being spoken to, he’s almost always in for an injurious blow, because it’s rarely nice things that are being said to him. Ultimately may have to do with how he’s had one too many people walk out of his life that there’s just nothing but quiet left for him now.

And he really doesn’t need to be reminded of all the noise that used to exist.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, it’s not Slaine who arrives on the job first.

By the time he’s head on downstairs, Nina’s already there, inspecting a line of items on the shelves whilst tapping away at her tablet. Upon sensing his presence, she turns and flashes a polite smile his way.

“You’re here!” she says.

In the dim illumination, Nina’s pink hair accessories appear brighter and more colourful than they actually would be under normal lighting conditions.  

“Good morning,” Slaine replies. He begins to advance towards the racks he’d left off at yesterday.  

“There’s still a lot to go through, so hopefully we can get more done today,” Nina says, bouncing on the balls of her feet so that she can examine the topmost shelf at a better angle. If she stretched to her limits, she might be able to afford about the same height of view Slaine would have if he were in her position.  

“That would be good,” Slaine agrees. He watches as she tries to hoist herself up again, a hint of pink now flowing to her cheeks from the exertion. "Chair..."  

Nina side-eyes him. "Hmm?"

"It'll probably be easier if you, used a chair," he suggests, pointedly zeroing in on a stack of those piled up in a far corner of the room.  

Nina lets her raised heels collapse to the floor. She looks down at her shoes. "It would, wouldn't it?" she says.

"It might."

"Hmm...yeah, I guess I should do that!" She lets out a small laugh. "Good idea!" Humming a bit, she waltzes across the room to acquire the item in question. Nina drags a chair over to her work station, metal legs groaning as they scrape pass the floor. She sets it down directly in front of her and climbs on, lithe body swaying initially in her attempt to achieve balance.

Her attention is soon focused back on the awaiting task at hand, and likewise, Slaine returns to doing the same.   

As was with yesterday, they both spend the remaining duration of the morning in mutual speechlessness.  

This pattern continues for the next two days.

 

* * *

 

Inaho often tends to be busy.

Slaine doesn’t realize how surprisingly few qualms he ends up having about spending his every sleeping and waking moment in the proximity of a near-stranger until he starts to really reflect on why that is. The reason why being that a mass majority of the time, he’s made to feel as though he’s _not_ spending his every sleeping and waking moment in somebody’s company at all.    

It appears bizarre to call a boy you rarely ever see in your room a roommate, but that’s simply how it is with Inaho.    

Inaho always seems to have something to do or somewhere to be.

He’s gone every morning before Slaine wakes, and normally doesn’t return until late in the night when Slaine’s already asleep, or in process of falling sleep. They occupy the same space, but more often than not, Slaine feels as though he’s rooming by himself. Not to mention, it’s become increasingly evident that even outside their room, Slaine’s likely to encounter Inaho’s acquaintances more than he does Inaho himself.

The smarter part of Slaine would say, _Of course he’s busy; important people are busy people._

Slaine hasn’t been on this ship for long, but even he can tell when someone in a group’s being held in much higher regards compared to the rest. Between Inaho’s frequent interactions with the higher-ups and his almost uncanny ability to excel beyond his years, it’s a no-brainer.

Inaho’s an integral part to the crew.

Slaine thinks that it must be nice—being needed and considered valuable.

 

* * *

 

By the time Sunday rolls along, the remaining supplies to be tallied has dwindled down significantly.  

That day, while Slaine’s making his presumably last trip to the storage room, he happens upon a blond boy with a uniform blazer tied around his waist.

Kisaki Matsuribi—radio operator in training, or something along those lines.

Slaine doesn’t have an issue with remembering the catalog of titles assigned to members of the Earth Forces, but he does occasionally struggle with remembering who possesses what title.  

He has seen Kisaki around a couple of times, though they have never truly spoken with each other. Kisaki’s clearly not a part of the _Inaho-Calm-Inko-Nina_ quartet, so that drastically lowers the possibility of him coming into direct contact with Slaine. The blond belongs to the category of people Slaine knows little to nothing about beyond the bare basics. Half the reason why he's able to recall Kisaki’s name at all is, amusingly enough, accredited to how Kisaki chooses to don his uniform blazer—secured around his waist rather than over his shoulders like the typical student.

Before their paths can intersect, Slaine makes an effort to stay closer to his side of the hallway so that he wouldn’t accidentally collide against the other boy. What he didn’t expect, is Kisaki to suddenly call out to him when they’re within a yard of each other.  

“Hey!” the blond says, and it takes Slaine a few seconds to register that it is indeed him whom Kisaki is trying to grab the attention of, and not somebody behind him.    

Slaine slows his steps until they’ve come to a complete halt. “Yes?”  

“Are you heading down to the supplies room?” Kisaki asks. There’s a speck of restlessness lacing his tone.  

Slaine’s eyebrows furrow slightly in a display of confusion. “Yes,” he repeats.

“Good timing!” Kisaki pulls a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. He quickly unfolds it, smoothes the creases as best as he can, and holds it out towards Slaine. “Could you give this to Calm?”  

Slaine glances down at the extended paper. There are a range of messily-scribbled notes on it, and a rough sketch of a Kataphrakt.

Slaine purses his lips. “I don’t know where he is.”

“He should be in the supplies room,” Kisaki says. “He and Inko, actually. They’re supposed to be helping to finish cataloging the inventory today.”    

That’s news to Slaine.

As far as he’d been aware, only he and Nina had been responsible for that.  

“So could you?” Kisaki reintroduces his request. The aura of urgency surrounding the blond heightens. “Please?”  

Slaine is still in process of letting this new information sink in. “If he’s there like you say…”    

“He should be! Thanks!” Barely missing a beat, Kisaki pushes the paper into Slaine’s hand. “I’d do it myself, but I’m kinda in a hurry.”    

 

* * *

 

When Slaine arrives, he arrives walking straight into a heated argument.

True to Kisaki’s words, both Calm and Inko are present, along with Nina.

There’s a three-way squabble going on, and being the latecomer, Slaine’s unable to grasp what it is that’s being debated. He imagines it must be over a trivial matter, because that’s usually how it goes. As it currently stands, Inko and Nina appear to be on the offensive whereas Calm’s gone on the defensive. All three of them are wearing determined expressions as they’re vouching for their respective opinions.

They don’t appear to notice Slaine at all as he enters the room.         

This is clearly not the first time Slaine’s witnessing a fierce, ongoing debate amongst the three. However, it would be the first time he’d have to personally interrupt them. 

The note that Kisaki had given him is still sitting in hand, and Slaine’s adding additional wrinkles to it the longer he holds it.

He pulls closer to the group, listening attentively to try to find himself an opening to speak. As the seconds turn into minutes, it becomes obvious that no suitable way exists for him to disrupt this conversation without appearing intrusive.  

Slaine thins his lips.

“Excuse me,” he says, in his usual tone of voice. 

They continue to talk over him.

He clears his throat.

" _Excuse me_ ," he says, again, this time just loud enough to be heard over the commotion.

The chatter immediately dies, and three pairs of eyes focus themselves on Slaine. The fact that everyone is currently gathered in a tightly knit circle while they’re eyeing him down causes Slaine to feel all the more like the intruder he is, treading into territory he has no place going into.

“Err...yeah?” Calm’s the one who eventually breaks the heavy pause. “What’s up?” For a brief moment, Slaine feels a sliver of gratitude towards him. This makes the job a lot easier because it’s really only Calm that he requires the attention of.

“Matsuribi-san,” Slaine says, holding out the note. “He asked me to hand this over to you.”

“Huh?” Calm blinks a few times, before his pupils dilate in recognition. “Oh!" He quickly reaches out to take the note. "Oh right, I almost forgot about that! Thanks!”  

“Sure.”

Note successfully delivered, Slaine uses the opportunity to quickly remove himself from the group. His departure revives the interrupted quarrel, and in no time at all, the room is again filled with voices intermingling with each other, determined as they struggle to gain advantage in the unresolved dispute.

In his usual corner, Slaine logs his credentials onto his borrowed tablet, and concentrates on inputting data into the electronic register. He tries hard to drown out the external distractions happening to the far side of him.

He prefers his previous mornings in this room compared to today’s.  

Slaine’s so entirely engrossed on his screen that it takes him a while before he becomes aware of the presence standing mere feet to his left.

When he finally does take note of his previously overlooked company, he lifts his head, eyes widening a fraction.

Inaho stares straight back at him, expression ever neutral.

“You're working hard,” the brunet says.

Slaine’s eyes relax back to their default states. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You didn’t notice.”

Slaine hadn’t. He almost never does.

He graces Inaho with a quick once-over, and then presents the second, complementary question:

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on break right now, so I thought I might drop by to see how things are progressing.” Inaho briefly surveys the room, lands his gaze on Nina and the others, before turning to look back towards Slaine. “You’re quite self-isolating, aren’t you?”

The sudden, unexpected remark catches Slaine off guard and he recoils inwardly. “What?”

“This is just my observation,” Inaho continues, “but you seem to make a point of keeping yourself at a distance from everybody.”

Slaine frowns at the bluntness of the comment. “And what concern is that of yours?” he asks.  

“Are you always like that, or is it just with us in particular?”

“ 'Us?' ” Slaine’s nothing short of befuddled.

“Terrans.”

Slaine knits his brow at the brunet. “Isn’t that a strange thing to ask somebody who is a Terran himself?”

“A Terran who has spent a good five years on Vers,” Inaho corrects. “I would think that the time you’ve spent there has enabled you to look at both worlds through a new perspective.”

It certainly has—a rather awful perspective where he’s lost a sense of belonging he can’t ever get back.    

But Slaine’s not going to go there.

“Five years in one world doesn't invalidate the eleven years I've spent in the other,” he says. _No. It doesn't. That's exactly the problem._ Then, more directly, he answers Inaho’s question, “I haven’t developed a dislike towards Terrans while on Vers, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So you’re just reclusive by nature,” Inaho says.

“What’s wrong with reclusive?” Slaine’s voice comes out a tad more defensive than he’d intended. The dim lighting above them flickers slightly, as if to signify that this conversation has taken a very unfavorable turn.

He wonders what Inaho’s motivation could be for making these types of remarks. Slaine finds them to be rather indiscreet, and he's pretty sure the average person would agree with him.

“Nothing.” Inaho peels his eyes away from Slaine momentarily, and inclines them at a random box on one of the storage racks. “But have you ever considered, that maybe it might not be the best thing for you?”

This response is unexpected, if not strange.

Slaine’s lips draw further downwards. “I fail to understand your point.”

"Some people are well suited for solitude,” Inaho says. “You just don’t strike me as being one of them."  

Slaine would challenge Inaho on why he believes he has any right to judge whether something's suiting of him (They barely even know each other; how can you decide what's best for someone whom you hardly even know?), but instead the sentence that winds up coming out of his mouth is: 

“What, makes you say that?”

Inaho angles burgundy eyes at him, blank and unrevealing. “Intuition.”

Slaine holds Inaho’s gaze, unimpressed by the vague answer.

Inaho absently slides a hand across one of the storage racks. “And also…aren’t you just making things harder for yourself?” He traces the dusty edges with his fingertips. "It just might do you some good to get along better with everyone while you’re onboard the ship. Since, you’re probably going to be here for a while.”

“I’m not interested in companionship,” Slaine says. “I’m only here to do my job.”

“Your job,” Inaho echoes.

“Protecting the Princess.”

“Your job doesn’t need to be your life,” Inaho says.

Slaine falters at that, but only slightly. “That isn’t something you get to decide.”

Inaho pauses. He removes his hand from the rack. “...I suppose not."

Slaine doesn’t offer a verbal response to that, and soon his attention is back on his tablet.

Inaho stands across from him, watching, but making no further attempts to pursue conversation.

Slaine doesn’t understand why the brunet continues to stay there, rooted to the same spot, even when it’s clear that there isn’t anything further to be gained with him lingering in Slaine’s presence.

Inaho could be spending his time in better ways, and Slaine is pretty sure that watching him log inventory onto his tablet can’t be one of those ways.  

The long silence that befalls the both of them is inevitable.  

But somehow, this type of stillness is not the same as the ones Slaine’s experienced the past few days with Nina, or anyone else while aboard the Deucalion.

Not quite the same as any of the ones he’s experienced ever, really.

This, is a different kind of silence.

 

* * *

 

“You’re really skilled!”  

It’s a week later that Slaine finds himself in the communal kitchen, assisting with food preparations.

Asseylum’s enthusiastic gushing causes him to glance up from his carrot peeling. He flicks his eyes to his left in time to witness Inaho effortlessly flipping and catching a cluster of mixed vegetables with his frying pan. Inaho casually rotates them a few times before repeating the act—tossing the pan’s contents with a well-executed flip and letting everything collapse back where they originally came.

He does it so neatly and with such flair that it makes the otherwise tricky feat look ridiculously easy.

A curious fascination plays in Asseylum’s eyes while she watches Inaho work the stove. The Princess in high spirits has become a familiar sight to Slaine whenever Inaho is in the vicinity.

“It’s nothing, really.” Inaho's quick to brush off the compliment.   

“No, it's quite impressive!” Asseylum claps her hands together.

“I did this regularly back home. I’ve just had time to get used to it.”

Asseylum perks up in interest at that. “Inaho-san, do you happen to enjoy cooking as a pastime?”

“Rather than a pastime, it’s more of a household obligation.” Inaho temporarily stops movement on his pan to turn the stove heat down a notch. “Yuki-nee’s always busy with work, so I’m normally the one responsible for preparing our meals.”          

“Ah…” Asseylum’s features take on a more somber appearance. “That must be challenging.”

“You’re making it sound a lot more difficult than it really is.”

Slaine pulls his gaze away and parses out the subsequent parts to Asseylum and Inaho’s conversation.

The question of Inaho's background or what sort of life the brunet had been leading prior to the war had never really crossed his mind until now.

Granted, Slaine _has_ given considerable thought to Inaho’s overall character and distinguishing traits. It’s been obvious from the start that Inaho is out of the ordinary in various respects relative to his peers. However, he really hadn’t engaged himself in any speculation concerning the other boy's household circumstances, nor had he ever thought about the type of upbringing Inaho might have had growing up.

It does appear a little unusual that his sister just so happens to be a warrant officer.

_What could have been the reason behind that decision?_

The list of questions Slaine has regarding Inaho continues to extend, with no answers in sight.

Though, he supposes the answers he is seeking aren’t in his right to know.

Slaine finishes skinning the rest of the carrots. He cuts them down to size and starts piling the severed pieces inside the mixing bowl. The stove at his station is turned on to max heat, and the pot of water he’d deposited there earlier is now boiling like it should. Taking care not to stand so close as to be buried by the steam, he removes the lid, and carefully transfers the carrots from the bowl inside the pot.    

Asseylum and Inaho continue on with their casual exchanges, which consists primarily of Inaho showing Asseylum various techniques used in the cooking process. Halfway through a detailed discussion on how to best work with eggs, Asseylum suddenly perks up in remembrance of a previously scheduled obligation. “Oh my! I need to be meeting with Eddelrittuo at this time.” She pulls back from her position behind Inaho, and quickly pads over to the open doorway. “Thank you for letting me watch you today, Inaho-san. And, I’ll see you again soon, Slaine.”

Slaine straightens up to properly see her off. “Yes, of course.”

Asseylum’s departure and the lack of a third presence in the room has the effect of making the soft sizzling of oil coming from Inaho’s side of the kitchen magnify in volume.

“Have you two always been good friends?”

Slaine looks to Inaho in confusion, placing his attempt in shredding a head of lettuce on hold.

“You and Seylum-san. She's told me how much she's learned from you about Earth. I’m presuming you two are fairly close?”

Slaine should feel pleased—wants to feel pleased—that their relationship appears that way to an outsider, if not for the fact that it isn’t quite true.

‘Friend’?

The Princess is someone he looks at with gratitude and respect. ‘Friend’ implies that the parties involved are more or less on a similar level. What he has with Asseylum is anything but.

A distance exists between he and her—distance so thick and impossible he can’t even begin to close it. She sits somewhere much higher than he does (assuming he’s even sitting anywhere to begin with)—too far away and beyond his reach.

Too far.

He’s too less, and she’s too much.

Slaine’s lips set themselves into a tight line. He opens his mouth to refute Inaho’s erroneous assumption, when a familiar voice suddenly cuts in from behind him, “Nao-kun!”

They both turn to verify the source of the newly introduced voice.

Kaizuka Yuki is seen poking her head through the kitchen doorway, a frown marring her face.    

“Nao-kun, not to bother you, but have you seen Lieutenant Marito?” she asks.

Inaho sets his pan down. “Is he not in the control room?”

“No, I just came from there. I’ve checked every place I could think of, and he’s nowhere to be found!”

“Unfortunately, I have no further clues as to his whereabouts.”

Inaho’s sister sighs loudly, making no attempts to hide her frustration. “That guy’s always running off somewhere when you need him,” she gripes, stomping her foot for good measure. Slaine instinctively notes how the undignified motion clashes terribly with her formal attire. “If he’s drinking and slacking again, I’m honestly going to…” She trails off and shakes her head. “Nevermind. I need to talk with you too. Could you come out here for a second?” The woman makes a gesture to motion Inaho away from the kitchen.    

Inaho hums a small noise of compliance. He wipes his hands off on a neighboring towel and walks out, leaving Slaine to supervise the kitchen by himself.

Slaine brushes aside the minute interruption and carries on with his work. The pot of carrots is already well above the boiling point, so he sets the lettuce down to shut off the heat. Steam escapes the pot when he removes the lid, and he needs to wave his hand at the air to diffuse the rising vapor.  

Slaine can catch fragments of what Inaho and his sister are saying outside in the hallway as he proceeds to spoon the cooked carrots out from inside the pot. However, the scattered bits of conversation are not enough for him to piece together and make sense of the overall topic being discussed.  

He fishes the last of the carrots out, leaving only boiling water in the tin container. With some effort, he maneuvers it off the stove and angles it downwards towards the sink to dispose of the remaining content.

It would have to be an untimely stroke of bad luck, or the clumsiness that had been characteristic of his earlier days in Vers has chosen to resurface on this particular afternoon.

Right when he’s halfway done emptying the pot, his fingers slip, and a splash of boiling water suddenly lands on his arm in a most violent manner. The blunder is startling, and it takes virtually zero seconds before he registers the searing, blistering pain latching onto and eating at his skin.

A sharp intake of breath prevents him from emitting a scream, but his hands automatically loosen their grip. The half-filled pot falls and collides loudly against the kitchen countertop, prompting the rest of the fluids to spill all over the floor.

Slaine scrambles with his uninjured hand towards the cold water faucet. The raw, cutting throb in his arm causes his limbs to move in an uncoordinated fashion, and he winds up knocking over a basket of potatoes and a coffee mug in the process. He brings his arm under the tap before he can finish turning on the faucet. Only when the soothing, cool water lands on his arm and begins numbing the scorching pain does his strained breathing finally starts returning to normal.       

He’s so preoccupied by what just transpired that when a perplexed, “What’s that noise?” echoes from outside the hallway, it hits him like a punch back into full consciousness. Footsteps start advancing in the direction of the kitchen, and Slaine realizes that his accident-induced racket must have caught the attention of Inaho’s sister.  

His eyes flicker to the floor, and in an awful instant, he becomes acutely aware of the mess he’s made.

He quickly gets down to retrieve as many of the fallen potatoes as he can manage. As for the spilled water and scattered glass fragments that had previously been the coffee mug, there’s nothing he can do on such short notice. He’s not even close to reverting the kitchen floor back to its original state when Inaho’s sister peers into the room. She surveys the surroundings and Slaine flinches involuntarily when her eyes land on him.

He is still trying to pile a few potatoes back whence they came. It’s a fairly sloppy job that he’s doing, because pain is still prickling across his arm in sharp spikes.

“What happened?” she asks.

His lips part, and a mechanical apology automatically flies from his mouth.

Inaho's sister steps inside the kitchen and starts approaching him, heels clacking in her wake.    

Slaine catches her frown deepening out of the corner of his eye, and then before he's able to process what’s happening, she’s reaching out towards him—her fingers closing in on his wrist—

It could be due to this situation being too reminiscent of a past memory. And perhaps he's also just prepared for something awful to come, be it a reprimanding or penalty, because there's no reason for him to believe otherwise.

But the instant she touches him, his mind immediately catapults back to that time in the landing castle, just half a month after being placed under foster care—

He’d been very careful, but on his way to the conference room, he'd tripped. He never really was very graceful as a child. And the next thing he knew, plates and cups were crashing down—breaking and shattering—the serving cart tipping over and falling—glass shards and hot tea flying everywhere, on his fingers—stinging them scarlet to match the bright carpets. It was a room full of displeased faces soon after, multiple pairs of eyes glaring in utmost irritation because making a disaster out of a simple job is as inexcusable as it can get. And so there was little choice but to stay half-sprawled on the ground, bracing himself for impact as the impending punishment in the form of physical retribution started to come down—

“Did you burn yourself?”

Memory fades out, and Slaine blinks, the colours of the room seeping back into focus.

Inaho’s sister is standing directly in his line of sight, casting a clinical stare towards the red rash swelling above his wrist. “You did burn yourself,” she says, combating his lack of response by answering her own question.

Slaine keeps his mouth shut.

Something close to bafflement is beginning to cloud his senses. Beyond the woman’s shoulder, he catches Inaho standing at the doorway now, fixing him with a rather concentrated look.

Slaine’s not sure what to think when Inaho’s sister drags him back towards the sink, and brings his arm under the running water once more. They’re both forced to watch as the stream makes its cool descent on Slaine’s damaged skin, sliding away on impact and circling down into the drain.

“That looks serious,” she says.

Slaine wets his lips. “I’m fine.”

The woman shakes her head. “You need to get that looked at in case it becomes infected.”

His reply is automatic: "It's fine."

She stops, seems to consider her options, and then tilts her head back.

“Nao-kun, could you take him to the infirmary?”    

 

* * *

 

Slaine follows Inaho, exactly three steps from behind.

He keeps his eyes mostly locked on the backs of Inaho’s shoes, intentionally letting the brunet’s footsteps override his own.

They reach the infirmary to find it unoccupied.  

Slaine glances absently at the bare walls and pale sheets strewn neatly across empty beds. Meanwhile, Inaho begins going through the medical cabinets in the far corner of the room.

He soon returns, armed with a first-aid kit, and places it on the nightstand adjacent to one of the beds before turning his attention to Slaine. “Arm?”

Slaine looks towards Inaho in confusion.

“Your arm. May I have a look at it?” Inaho elaborates.    

At that, Slaine realizes Inaho’s offering him help. This hadn't been included in the original agenda.

“It-” Slaine begins. “You don’t need to-”  

Inaho’s gaze catches onto his, and Slaine’s motivation to refuse assistance quickly ebbs away. He reluctantly extends his arm.

Inaho takes it. He rolls Slaine’s bunched sleeve further upwards towards his elbow, assessing the severity of the damage. Slaine tries not to focus too much on the prickling warmth of Inaho’s skin sliding against his own. It comes as a surprise, but Inaho has rather smooth hands. The brunet’s touch feels mechanical in nature, but also oddly gentle. The grasp he has on Slaine’s arm is petal-soft—so incredibly faint there’s barely any weight to it.

“You’re lucky the burn’s not on a major joint,” Inaho observes. “Otherwise, this could have been more severe of an injury.” He rotates Slaine’s arm slightly to gauge it from a slightly different perspective. “There’s some swelling, but no clear signs of tissue destruction. It’s not quite a second degree burn either, so that’s also a good sign.”   

Inaho’s professional assessment and casual reference to medical terminology reminds Slaine of an aspiring doctor.

The brunet momentarily lets go of Slaine’s arm to retrieve a roll of sterile dressing and bottle of moisturizing lotion from the first aid kit. “You should try to avoid pressure or friction on the affected area for the next week or so,” he says.

“You’re well-rehearsed in medical-aid,” Slaine comments. He bites back a flinch when Inaho carefully begins applying the lotion onto his tender skin.

“We learned the basics in school.”    

Inaho doesn’t take too long administrating the treatment. Once he’s done, he reaches back over to the dresser for the sterile dressing.

Slaine watches, attentively, while Inaho fastens the dressing around his arm, taking care not to secure it too firmly so as to leave adequate breathing space. The job's done in a manner nothing short of efficient, just like with everything Inaho does.    

“Your sister. She must be proud of you.”

Slaine doesn’t know what he expects to get out of making such a remark. But the current context is inviting of him to do so, even if the social atmosphere’s not.

Inaho doesn’t slow his ministrations at the comment, though he does react in the form of a quick, upwards glance.

Slaine lands his eyes on a spot behind Inaho. “You have a lot going for yourself.”

Inaho lightly clips the dressing in place. He tilts his head back to evaluate the quality of his finished work. “Do I?”

“Shouldn't you be able to tell?”

A shrug’s all Slaine gets in reply. Which is a confusing response to what’s supposed to be a very straight-forward question. 

Inaho lets go of his hand to put the medical supplies back where they belong. Slaine watches him turn and walk to the other side of the room where the cabinets are situated, their dark colors a glaring contrast against the paleness of the infirmary walls.

Slaine hesitates momentarily, but decides to go ahead and bring the rest of his thoughts to light. 

“First in your class, a talent for analysis, and excellent culinary skills to top it off. Not to mention you’re very knowledgeable in subjects others your age wouldn't be," he lists. He can see new creases forming on Inaho’s uniform as the brunet reaches up to slide the first aid kit onto the topmost shelf. “That’s plenty to be proud about, right?”

Inaho slows his movement, but only for an instant. Slaine notes this with slight curiosity before the brunet resumes motion, closing the cabinet the full way as if the deceleration of his limbs hadn’t happened. The lines on his uniform flatten out when he allows his previously raised arm to drop back down against his side. He hasn't yet turned around to look at Slaine. However, when he replies, his voice retains its usual impassivity, so it's reasonable to assume the same applies to his face.  

“I wouldn’t know.”

Slaine isn’t sure if what he's dealing with here is a deliberate refusal of self-acknowledgement or just Inaho's odd attempt at humility. But then he thinks that he ought to have a pretty firm grasp on what humility (both obvious and subtle) should look like, since he sees that all the time between the Knights and Counts. This doesn't appear to be what’s currently happening—at least, it can’t be the only thing. He suspects other implications are adrift, but he has no idea which angle to start examining them from.

“Well,” Slaine says, slow and contemplative and with perhaps a bit of insistence, “you should.”


End file.
